


At the heart of the inferno that will never tire

by trialbyfic



Series: they are siblings (and they care for each other) [3]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood Loss, Comfort, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Surgery, In The Sad Ending: - Freeform, Jonny and Nastya are siblings, Major character death - Freeform, Multiple Endings, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trialbyfic/pseuds/trialbyfic
Summary: "Well, if you're so worried-" Jonny undoes a few buttons on his shirt and tugs the left side down, giving Nastya a clear view to his heart. "See? It's fi-" Jonny glances down at it, and spots the the faltering rainbow sheen shimmering across its surface, a byproduct of the device's self regulation- which only starts up when something is wrong. "Ah. Not fine, then."---Jonny's mechanism needs repairing. (now with alternate Happy and Sad endings!)
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Nastya Rasputina, The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina
Series: they are siblings (and they care for each other) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926106
Comments: 46
Kudos: 133





	1. Pride (Jonny lives)

**Author's Note:**

> author stuck at a motel for a week with nothing but a phone, earbuds, and some gum, what will he write 
> 
> ok honestly, this is probably the fic with the least amount of planning and deliberation that i've posted? i wrote it to pass the time, throwing together a bunch of one-off concepts/scenes from my mental library, and coming up with about 50 percent of it on the spot (i usually only do abt 20 percent on the spot writing). but i still tried hard to make it good, so i hope that's not too much of a deterrence! 
> 
> i don't think there's any big cw's in this, other than the implied surgery. but if i've missed any tags/warnings, please let me know! 
> 
> title is from "Hellfire" from the High Noon Over Camelot album!

Nastya sits at the dinner table, hunched over a tattered and torn coat that she's currently splayed over the tabletop, in hopes to patch it up. Jonny had been sitting beside her and teaching her stiches before he decided to let her take charge, and observe from one of the kitchen's countertops.

The comfortable quiet that she works in is unceremoniously broken by distressed sound from Jonny, and so Nastya looks up at him curiously. Jonny's eyes are closed tight, his face is pinched, and he presses the heel of his right palm his his chest, rubbing small circles into the flesh that borders the clear panel over his heart.

The unusualness and uncomfortability of seeing one of her crew in pain without any visible precursors churns within Nastya's mind to settle as annoyance, and she bites out a harsh "What. What is wrong with you."

Jonny opens his eyes are glares back. "Well, it so happens that muscles and ribs don't like being ripped out to make room for a heart-window. Sometimes they ache." Jonny's mouth twists into a snarl "So sorry if that bothers you, Your Highness." He hisses out, sarcastic.

Nastya flinches as the usage of "your highness" and turns back to the table, picking up her sewing needle and a ducking her head, prepared to be done with the conversation.

"Fuck. Sorry," Jonny says. "Forgot you didn't like that title."

"Hmph." Nastya folds the edge of tear in the coat's pocket, readying it for a ladder stitch. "Is that a genuine apology?"

"Yes."

Nastya pauses and glances back up. Jonny still looks pained, continuing to press at his chest.

"Are you sure it is just your muscles and ribs that are causing you pain, Jonny?"

"Of course it is," Jonny huffs, "I've dealt with this tons of times before."

"No, I mean- are you certain it is not your actual mechanism that is glitching?"

Jonny frowns. "Why do you care?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Nastya returns to her sewing, digging the needle vertically from the bottom through the fabric, creating an anchor. "It wouldn't serve either of us well if you were to die."

"Well, if you're so worried-" Jonny undoes a few buttons on his shirt and tugs the left side down, giving Nastya a clear view to his heart. "See? It's fi-" Jonny glances down at it, and spots the the faltering rainbow sheen shimmering across its surface, a byproduct of the device's self regulation- which only starts up when something is wrong. "Ah. Not fine, then."

"Just be sure to stop by the med-bay and get it checked by Marius." If Nastya's tone is still harsh, she doesn't mean it to be. For a reason she's never quite been sure of, blunt and cold is often what her voice defaults to. She doesn't let it trouble her for long, though, as the others don't seem to mind too terribly. They all have their quirks.

"Hmm... Nope. Don't think I will."

"And why not?"

"I don't feel like having Marius poke around with my heart."

"What if I poked around with your heart, instead?" Nastya offers.

"That'd be worse. You're not even a medic."

Nastya rolls her eyes. "I'm not an engineer for no reason. Marius is only the designated medic because of his familiarity with the more... fleshy aspects of biology, and because of his bedside manners. But I know just as much about the operation of our mechanisms as him, if not more."

"Oh." Jonny thinks for a moment. "I guess I'd trust you... slightly more."

Nastya finishes her stich and ties it off, threading the string through the edge of the tear and pulling it up an inch away to hide the knot, then cutting the string with a finalizing snip. The stich is practically invisible, and she smiles proudly, gathering the coat back up for later, and standing from the table.

"Well," she says, "Come on. Let's get one of the portable diagnostic computers from the med-bay."

"Oh, right now?"

Nastya raises an eyebrow. "When else? I am not putting up with you being in pain for the next who-knows-how-long until you do something about it. We're solving this now."

"Alright, alright." Jonny hops off of the counter and follows Nastya out of the kitchen.

***

Nastya's left hand and Jonny's right hand are held in tight grip, their fingers intertwined and their palms pressed and sweaty against the other. With her right hand, Nastya uses a drill to remove the screws that line Jonny's chest panel. Jonny sits on his bed as Nastya stands over him, gritting his teeth and breathing slowly through the pain- and, Nastya guesses, the memories.

"It's rather crude that Carmilla used screws for you," Nastya says aloud, setting a screw aside onto Jonny's nightstand. And then she processes the fact that she's said it aloud. "Ah, whoops- I didn't- Was that rude?"

"Maybe, I don't know. But you're right," Jonny says bitterly. "I was one of her earlier experiments. It makes sense that her work wouldn't be as... refined."

Not knowing how to respond, or even if Jonny's words warrant a response, Nastya is silent as she starts up the drill again on the next few screws. But in one of the pauses between drilling, Jonny adjusts himself to sit more comfortably, bringing his feet up onto the bedspread.

With his shoes still on.

"Take your shoes off the bed," Nastya commands, her lips curling in disgust. "That's unhygenic."

Jonny smiles gleefully, a teeth-baring grin that's more malice than actual happiness, and he looks Nastya in the eyes as he furiously rubs the bottoms of his shoes on the bed, turning the beige quilt beneath them into a dark brown from dirt, old gore, and who-knows-what.

"Ew, Jonny, groooss- no, yuck-" Nastya complains, hunching her shoulder to block the horrid scene from periphery, and revving the drill to drown out the sound of Jonny's laughter until it fades.

The panel is eventually removed from Jonny's chest, and Nastya grabs the end of a cable connected to the diagnostic computer, holding it hovering near Jonny's heart.

"Ready?" Nastya asks.

Jonny takes in a breath and holds it, nodding. Nastya's fingers run across the surface of Jonny's heart, searching for the port opening that will allow her to attach the cable. Jonny flinches at Nastya's cold touch against the exposed flesh surrounding the organ, so Nastya frees her left hand from his grip to place it steadyingly on his shoulder.

"Ah, there," Nastya mutters quietly upon finding the port, and the cable plugs in with a worryingly crunchy click. "Hm. Concerning."

"You sound like Raphaella, when you talk like that," Jonny points out.

"We've been around one other for thousands of years. It would be strange if we didn't pick up on each other's mannerisms."

"That sounds like Ivy."

"Oh, stop it," Nastya says, not unkindly. "I need to focus on the computer. Move over."

Jonny shifts to the far side of the bed, and Nastya settles beside him, carefully avoiding the dirtied part of the bedspread. She pulls the portable computer into her lab and prepares a general wellness scan on the components.

Waiting for the scan to complete, Nastya finds herself easily entranced by Jonny's heart- watching the gears spin, hearing the miniature pistons within it hiss and strain, feeling the cable that she's idly coiled around her fingers as it jolts and tugs from the jittery motion of his ventricles.

For a splint second, Nastya thinks that she can understand why the Doctor pursued the work that she did. It was lonely being immortal, was it not? Can Nastya really fault the Doctor for wanting companions, especially when something as masterful as their mechanisms was eventually borne from that same need?

Nastya blinks and shakes her head, trying to bring herself out of her thoughts. "Jonny, please remind me why I hate Carmilla."

Jonny picks the drill up from where Nastya had set it on the nightstand and gives it a quick one-two rev, in the same way that Carmilla used to with her saw, right before she would-

Nastya grimaces. "Thanks."

The computer beeps, signifying the completion of the scan, and Nastya sets into reading the results.

Ah.

Hm.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

"Shit," Jonny says quietly, amusement mixed with fear. "I didn't think you could get any paler."

Nastya doesn't respond.

"It's... pretty bad then, huh?"

Nastya nods numbly. Then, suddenly, she takes up Jonny's hand again, holding it in a grip so tight that she can feel her fingernails piercing flesh. Jonny gasps in surprised pain and tries to pull his hand back, but Nastya holds firm, staring fiercely into his eyes.

"Whatever you see on that screen- you're going to let us fix it. You are going to be fine, whether you like it or not. I don't want you contesting any this. Understood?"

Jonny nods, eyes wide.

Nastya places the computer in Jonny's lap. "There is a lot of engineering jargon in there that I don't expect you to understand, but- well. You certainly can't misinterpret the warning at the end."

Nastya watches Jonny scroll past the list of error after error, one low percentage after another, until-

"Estimated time until shutdown- 9 days, 5 hours, 9 minutes, and 42.6 seconds." Jonny reads aloud. He falls back against his stacked pillows with a hollow chuckle. "Fuck. I've tried damn near every possible way to kill myself, and the one thing that'll finally get me is... some nonsense glitches."

Nastya's already impossibly tight grip somehow grows tighter. "No, it won't."

"Ow, ow- just joking! You can let go now!"

Nastya releases Jonny's hand and sees the bloodied fingernail indents left in his skin repair themselves almost immediately.

"I wouldn't want to go out this way, anyway," Jonny adds. "It's not exciting, or quick. I'd prefer die because of something like... a bar fight. That'd be fun."

"What? A bar fight isn't fun."

Jonny shakes his head. "You just haven't been in a good bar fight. You'll have to join me for one, sometime."

Hearing Jonny speak of things in future terms relieves some of Nastya's worries- honestly, she'd thought she would have to fight with Jonny to convince him to not let this fate claim him- and she smiles. "Sure. After we get this taken care of," she gestures to Jonny's heart.

"Do you know why it's even glitching in the first place?"

"Uh-" Nastya gives the results of the scan another look-over. "It seems that it is not just one cause, but damage built up over time. All repairable, however."

Jonny looks down at his exposed mechanism contemplatively, and sighs. "I'm... I don't..." He trails off, looking uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I know I said I'd let this be fixed, but- well. The last person who operated on my heart was the Doc, and..."

"Spit it out, Jonny."

"I'm not looking forward to it at all. Even if it's just Marius."

Nastya hums, thinking. "You said you trust me slightly more than him, correct?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I could- theoretically- fix your mechanism, on my own. If you'd let me."

Jonny stares at her for a long moment, then, "You know what? If you think you can do it, go right the fuck ahead."

"...Right." Nastya goes to unplug the cable from Jonny's heart, waiting for his nod before she does. "You'll have to give me a day or two to prepare, of course. But I think- I know I can do it."

Jonny's sighs again, this time sounding relieved. "Alright."

Nastya replaces the panel on Jonny's chest and drills the screws back in- an easier process, now that she's done it at least once- and gives the panel a quick pat-pat after the last screw is securely in place, an automatic motion from her numerous repairs to the Aurora.

The bed bounces as Nastya stands up to leave, so Jonny sends out a hand to balance himself, accidentally setting it on the grime-coated part of the bedspread.

"Ew," Jonny lifts his hand and grimaces at it. "Who would dirty their bed like this? That's not smart. Definitely something I wouldn't do." There's the hint of a smile in his eyes, the kind of look that Nastya's learned to mean he's joking.

A half-smile plays at Nastya's lips. "Incorrect, Jonny. You, as usual, are the sole cause of your inconveniences."

"Oh, you're meeean, Nastya." Jonny's huff of mock-pout is cut short with a gasp of pain, and his hand flies up to press over his heart again.

"Did I mess up with putting the panel back?" Nastya asks, frowning.

"No, it's just the heart. You put the window back fine."

"Good. Oh, and- you probably shouldn't be around the others, should they see you in pain and interrogate you. They might try to talk you into letting Marius see to you, instead of me."

"That won't be a problem. I'll be glad to get away from those fuckers for a while."

"Try not to die in the meantime, as well. If your mechanism is corrupted, you... might not come back."

"Don't die? Hmm. That might be a problem."

"Don't make it one, then," Nastya says bluntly, and she leaves Jonny's room.

***

"Aurora?"

"Yes, Nastya?"

"I need to steal from Raphaella lab." Nastya crouches in the darkness of the hall outside Raphaella's lab. "Could you let me in?"

"For whatever reason must you steal from Miss Cognizi?"

"After Carmilla left, Raphaella braved the trip into the lab to take Carmilla's files, which included the information on our mechanisms. I need Jonny's files."

"You said that you already knew the operations of his mechanism, Nastya. Did you lie?"

"Of course not. I just want to be certain I am not missing anything. Now, my love, will you please...?"

Nastya hears the click of an electronic lock, and sees the red illumination from the lock's status indicator shift into an unlocked green.

"Thank you. Would you warn me if Raphaella or any of the crew approach, as well?"

"I will do so, Nastya."

Nastya creeps to the door and gently pushes it open. When no traps are set off, she ventures further, her eyes darting all around the room.

Her progress is slow but cautious as she steadily approaches a large file cabinet. Her hands ghost over the handles, checking for tripwires, and finding none. It seems that Raphaella's lab isn't as purposefully trapped and dangerous as Carmilla's was.

It's in the ninth cabinet that Nastya finds the files, as she recognizes them by the anti-aging seal that encases them. Carmilla never trusted the reliablility of keeping her most valuable information on computers, with electronics being "easily broken, hijacked, and quick to become outdated," as she had told Nastya.

Nastya thumbs through the cases, which are helpfully labelled with the respective crew member's name. Ashes, Drumbot, Ivy- there. Jonny. Nastya's own file sits beneath his, and with a surge of anger-sadness-panic, she quickly snatches Jonny's out of the pile, intent on leaving as soon as she can.

"Nastya, Nastya," The Aurora warns, "The gunner approaches."

"Damn it," Nastya breathes, "Why is he even awake? It is currently 4:19 A.M. in your artificial day cycle."

"He was resorting his artillery, and is returning to his living pod."

"Okay. Act normal." Nastya sneaks toe-heel to Raphaella's main workdesk and ducks behind it.

The light in the room shifts with a shadow as someone stands in the doorway.

"What? Raph never leaves it open if she's not here." Tim mutters to himself. "Oh, wait- has someone broken into Raphaella's lab?" He calls out, voice laced with mischeif. "You know she won't like that."

Footsteps sound from the doorway, getting louder as they move into the room. Nastya can see Tim's approaching form reflected in a beaker full of purple-ish fluid, and she is fully prepared to shoot Tim and face Raphaella's wrath later, when-

Tim shouts in shock as an Octokitten falls onto his head, dropped from a open vent above him. He fumbles for a moment, before he's got it cradled safely in his arms.

"Oh! Kitty!" Tim rocks the Octokitten softly. "What are you doing here? You're too adorable to be in a place as hazardous as Raph's lab."

The Octokitten considers Tim for a moment before biting him on the nose.

"Ouch! Fuck!" Tim swears, though he doesn't talk to it any less sweetly. "You know, I think Jonny would be proud if he saw that."

The Octokitten meows a strangled, high-pitched gurling.

"Are you hungry, kitty? Is that it?" Tim bounces the Octokitten lightly. "Alright. Let's go get you some food." Tim marches out of the lab, thouroughly distracted with cooing at the Octokitten.

"Aurora?" Nastya whispers after Tim has left, "Did you open that vent?"

"Who else?" Aurora responds in a happy rattling of gears.

Nastya chuckles quietly. "Oh, I do love you."

"I love you too, Nastya. The hallways are clear now, if you would like to depart."

"Thank you, yes," Nastya says, relieved, and she stands from behind the desk and exits the lab, locking the door behind her.

***

Carmilla's files are a mess of untidy, hasty scrawls, and are as much facts and ideas about Jonny's mechanism as they are a diary about her experiences with him. At the top of one page, there's a mix of numbers that looks more like a lottery draw than a date, then is written-

"I've been watching Jonny for a while now. He speaks and acts kindly; helping strangers carry their shopping, giving food to stray animals. Stuff of that sort. He stopped by a small tree on the side of the road today, a withering pine that was more brown than green, and he poured his entire canteen at it's roots. He had the most pity-filled look that I've ever seen on a person. I think he started crying, too. He would make a very good immortal companion."

Nastya scoffs at the paragraph. She can't imagine Jonny having ever been that kind- Jonny, who will wreck havoc and chaos upon a town for over 30 straight years just "for fun". Jonny, who has broken nearly every law possible to be broken on almost every planet he visits. Jonny, who had to be talked out of changing his literal name to Jonny d'Violence.

But, can't she? Wasn't she a similar way, once, long ago? Crying over her stuffed animals when they fell off of the bed, or if the light reflected in their plastic eyes make them look too sad- breaking into tears when her hairbrushes would become to worn to use, apologizing profusely to the inanimate object as she threw it away. Could it really be a stretch to think he was that empathetic once, too?

Nastya imagines her past self, and wonders if that young girl would hate who she's become. If she would, Nastya thinks, then the hate is mutual.

She was so naive, so hopeful. So ignorant. Didn't she know? Didn't she know that peace and happy endings only came in fairytales? Didn't she know that the people she chose to trust would eventually betray her? That they would take her life without mercy?

Didn't she know that she'd become one of those people- someone who could kill without remorse- as well?

Nastya rubs her eyes sleepily and yawns, setting the files aside on her desk. She's too tired for a crisis right now. If she wants to fret over how evil of a person she is, of how evil her entire crew is, she'll do it later.

For right now, this space pirate needs rest, and so Nastya moves from her desk to her bed, sprawling out on top of it. She doesn't even have time to get under the covers before she's dozed off, with Aurora's gentle symphonic sounds of humming engines and clicking gears to lull her to sleep.

("Goodnight, Nastya. Sleep well," The Aurora was saying.)

***

The repairs to Jonny's heart, as expected with someone as trained and talented as Nastya, are completed in just a few hours with precision and finesse. There's an unfortunate amount of blood spilled throughout the ordeal, but what else can one expect when dealing with such an organ?

Nastya peaks out of the med-bay doors, scanning the hallways. They'd hijacked the med-bay in the dead of night for the repairs, locking of the all doors, vents, and air-duct entrances to ensure no one else had access. (It wouldn't end well if someone startled them as Nastya as worked in Jonny's open chest with dangerous tools, such as metal cutters and a soldering iron.)

"Okay," she announces, turning back to Jonny, who sits hunched and breathing hard atop the surgery table, "The halls are clear. We can leave."

"I- I can't walk right now," He says, brows furrowed. "That wasn't exactly painless, you know."

"Then I'll carry you."

"What? Nastya, you're not-"

"Strong enough? Watch me."

Nastya walks to Jonny and effortlessly gathers him into her arms, holding him bridal style.

Jonny wraps his arms around her neck, and laughs weakly. "Guess I stand corrected. Or, not stand, in this case."

"Hold tight," Nastya says, and she walks out of the med-bay with Jonny in her arms.

It's a short trip to Jonny's room, and they luckily don't encounter anyone on the way. Aurora helpfully unlocks Jonny's door for them ahead of time, and Nastya brings Jonny to lay on his bed.

Once out of Nastya's hold, Jonny immediately curls his arms around his chest, and buries his face into a pillow. "Shit, shit, ow- you didn't tell me it'd hurt this much, Nastya."

"You'll be fine in a day or two." Nastya says, perhaps too coldly. That strange annoyance at seeing someone in pain is coiling in her mind, again. "Better this than dead."

"Hardly," Jonny huffs. He's hyperventilating now, breaths shallow and fast. "Hurts to breathe. Hurts to move. Death seems nice right about now."

Nastya frowns. What do people usually do to comfort others? She tries at gently running her hand through Jonny's hair, and he seems to like it, instinctively moving toward the contact, and his eyes closing contentedly.

Nastya carefully sits next to Jonny on the bed, trying to give him space and not jostle him too much, but in one sudden motion he throws himself back into her arms.

"Oh," Nastya says, surprised, but she quickly accepts her fate and adjusts Jonny to rest more snugly against her. If Jonny is unabashedly seeking contact, she knows, then he must really need it.

Jonny trembles lightly- a consequence of the combined blood loss and pain- and so Nastya shakes off her own coat, and drapes it around his frame. He looks so small like this, curled into himself and swamped in her long coat, and it makes Nastya think of the young man who Carmilla spoke of in her notes. Kind, he had been called.

Jonny hums quietly, letting his head loll into the space between Nastya's shoulder and her neck. "It's usually me that holds you. Not the other way around."

"Is it nice?" Nastya dares to ask. "To be held, instead of being the holder?"

"Mhm. You're taller than me. 'S nice change." It's probably the haze of pain that is making Jonny more open, but Nastya selfishly enjoys the honesty.

"You should try to sleep, Jonny."

"Mm, yeah," Jonny mumbles sleepily, pulling Nastya's coat tighter around him. "Night, Nastya."

Maybe, Nastya thinks, that kindness hasn't fully left either of them. It's just found a different priority- one that lays with their crew. Their family.

"Goodnight, Jonny," Nastya says softly. "You will feel better tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the ending seems rushed or odd, please know that it was 1. a Written On The Spot section, and 2. i originally planned to kill off Jonny, but someone!! chickened out!! (it was me. i was someone)
> 
> tho if y'all say that you want me to write the secret sad ending and add it as a 2nd chapter,,, i might give it a go,,, might be fuuun,,,,,
> 
> also there's a fun little secret about the numbers i put for the "estimated time until shutdown"- it's the runtime for TheVoidSing's lyric videos for Cyberian Demons and One Eyed Jack's put together! nastya and jonny's origins!
> 
> anyway, i hold each comment near and dear to my heart, and so they're always welcome <3


	2. Hubris (Jonny dies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nastya's hand hovers frozen and shaking over the Octokitten settled in her own lap. It meows, affronted at the ceased affection, then slithers down the armchair Nastya sits in, making towards Tim.
> 
> Raphaella turns to Nastya, looking accusatory. "Nastya? Do you know where Jonny is?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so excited for this that I managed to finish it in under 6 hours (it'd have been even less time if i didn't keep falling asleep while writing the last quarter).
> 
> anyway, this is the Secret Sad Ending that I spoke of! it would replace the scene that comes directly after ("Goodnight, Nastya. Sleep well," The Aurora was saying.). 
> 
> also i have no idea if i tagged the fic right? i'm not certain know how to tag it if there's different ending, so if something's off, please let me know!
> 
> chapter word counter: 3,506

Hubris.

That's the only word that parses Nastya's mind throughout it all.

Hubris. Excessive pride and self-confidence.

Hubris. Didn't she know?

Hubris. Didn't she know that happy endings were only in fairytales?

Hubris. Didn't she know that she'd become one of those people- who could betray the trust placed in them by someone close- as well?

She'd cut into Jonny's heart, forcing gears to grind to a halt and blocking pistons from completing their natural motion, all with the intent to repair the corrosion and decay that marred them. But he'd started to bleed from the cuts, and hadn't stopped, even as she raced to reset things to their original state- by manually injuring his heart, she'd essentially deactived whatever self-regulatory systems had been keeping him from shutdown.

And so, Jonny was dying.

Jonny was awake for the procedure, as Nastya hadn't known how to administer anesthesia. Awake, which meant that he was forced to watch her calm confidence grow into frenzied panic- to watch her clothes steadily become stained a bright red as his own blood seeped from his chest in unending waves. To watch as she refused, refused, refused to give up, even as she cycled through each useless tool with increasing despair.

When he'd finally realized he was dying, irreparably and irreversibly approaching that ever-encompassing darkness, well- the words passed between them then is perhaps too personal to speak of, but it'd ended with Nastya holding tight onto his colder yet colder body, as he bled his last upon the smooth linoleum of the med-bay floor.

Nastya had cried, at first. Cried all through those terrible, seemingly eternal hours until dawn broke on the Aurora, hoarse pleas of forgiveness slipping from tear-slick lips to hang, unanswered, in the still air. And then, she'd steeled herself, gathered Jonny into her shaking and grief-weakened arms, and marched out of the med-bay.

The silence of the halls feels hostile and mocking as Nastya dredges through them. How can the world possibly have such calmness in it, such quiet, when her own world has been shattered into millions of screaming shards? How can there possibly be peace in a moment like this? Why is the world not grieving with her? Why are the walls not crumbling to dust, the floor not rotting and falling out beneath her?

How can anything ever be okay, after this?

The Aurora, as a favour to her beloved, has locked every door on the ship that Nastya is not planning to go through- meaning that no one crosses her path as she braces Jonny's limp body in her arms, and keeps on her march to the airlocks.

It's selfish, some part of her thinks, to not let the others say their goodbyes to Jonny. They should decide what happens to his corpse as a group, should they not? The others care for him as well, and it wouldn't be fair to rob them of this final opportunity.

But, another part of her contests, while he may be their First Mate, Jonny is undoubtly her brother. And so, it is only right that she is the one to decide his body's fate, and the last one to see him.

Maybe that logic is flawed. Maybe it's wrong.

But she doesn't have it left in her to care.

As the room gives way to Zero-G, Nastya faces away from her intended direction and kicks the wall in front of her, rocketing herself and Jonny backward through the halls, and eventually, toward the airlocks.

They slow to a stop before one of the heavy steel airlock doors, and here, Nastya allows herself a true moment to say goodbye.

Jonny's chest is still exposed, and his ruined heart sits motionless inside. The dark red hue of dried blood gives the device a nearly, and sickeningly, human appearence. Nastya is quick to pull Jonny's shirt back over it, clumsily rebuttoning all but two buttons below the collar, as that's how Jonny always left it.

Space is cold, Nastya thinks numbly, so she shakes off her coat- tattered and blood soaked though it may be- and drapes it around Jonny, gently guiding his arms through the sleeves, and fastening it over his body.

He looks so small like this, curled in her arms and swamped in her long coat. Nastya imagines the young man that Carmilla spoke of in her notes, someone easily seen as kind and compassionate, and tries to pair the description to the Jonny before her.

She can't. Try as she might to squeeze the puzzle piece into place, tearing off corners and pinching edges, she can't compare this Jonny to the person he was before.

So, Nastya silently apologizes to both of them. She apologizes to the man Jonny was, who had so much care for the world that it was enough to make him cry. She apologizes to the Jonny she's known, who wrongly placed his trust in someone who was doomed to fail him, just when it mattered the most.

Nastya presses her forehead to Jonny's cheek, feeling as the last of her tears slips from her eyes onto his own face.

"I am sorry," she whispers to Jonny in her arms, and those are the only words she can will herself to say before her throat tightens in threat of another round of tears. But Nastya can't let herself cry again- she doesn't trust herself to ever be able to stop, if she does.

There's nothing else to do, after that. Nastya could float here and hold his corpse for an infinite number of years to come, letting his skin fall to ash and his skeleton turn twisted and warped in her grasp. But that wouldn't serve anyone well.

Nastya, although every cell within her loathes to do it, drags open the airlock door and sets Jonny's body in front of it. Backlit by the burning stars scattered across the endless night sky, Nastya places her hands on Jonny's shoulders, and shoves him out with as much force as she can. There's no resistence to the action, though it sends Nastya back into the ship as well. She catches her hands on the door to stop herself, and stays there to watch with tear-blurred eyes as Jonny's body is carted further and further away from her.

"Aurora," Nastya whispers, "Where will he go?"

"Into a sun," the Aurora replies somberly. "He will be be sent into a sun, and burn there, my love."

"Good," Nastya says, and she closes the airlock door.

***

"Has anyone seen Jonny lately?" Raphaella steps into the Common, her arms crossed and her wings lightly fluttering in annoyance.

"No, why?" Tim asks, slowly running his hand across the back of a sleeping Octokitten in his lap. Three other Octokittens surround him from where he sits cross-legged on the floor.

"There's some files missing from my lab. And since they're files about him, I figured, you know, he might've taken them. I don't see why anyone else would want those files."

"What are the files about?" Ivy asks from one of the couches. She, too, is surrounded by dozing Octokittens.

"Just about his mechanism. They were originally Carmilla's."

Nastya's hand hovers frozen and shaking over the Octokitten settled in her own lap. It meows, affronted at the ceased affection, then slithers down the armchair Nastya sits in, making towards Tim.

Raphaella turns to Nastya, looking accusatory. "Nastya? Do you know where Jonny is?"

It takes all of Nastya strength to not burst into tears right then- to not start screaming, shouting, tearing the world apart to righteously follow in her grief.

"Nastya?" Ivy, Tim, and Raphaella are all looking at her now.

"I..." Nastya swallows thickly. "No. I haven't seen him in days." It's not a lie, technically. It's also not the whole truth.

"You jut your chin out when you lie," Ivy says. "Did you know that?"

Nastya ducks her head and takes a steadying breath. "I'm- I'm not lying. I haven't seen Jonny in days, nor do I know anything about your files. Please, don't ask me again."

"Do you not want me to kill him? Is that it?" Raphaella asks curiously. "I was planning to, if he had taken them. But if he gives them up-"

"Stop," Nastya pleads, and her voice is wavering now. She allows her hair to fall in front of her face to hide her eyes, which are brimming with tears that she refuses to let fall- she wouldn't be able to stop, if she did. The stars would blink out, the last of the dying universe's heat would fade away, and she would still be crying.

"Nastya? You look upset," Tim says, and his voice is soft in a way that makes her typically freezing face burn, and her quicksilver blood course through her veins ablaze.

How can there still be softness in the world, when her own grief is tearing gore-sharpened teeth into every sharpnel of it that stumbles, meek and quaking, into her wake? Why isn't the world reflecting her pain?

It isn't fair. It isn't fair.

"What isn't fair?" Ivy prompts, and with an unpleasent jolt, Nastya realizes that she's said her last thought aloud.

There's no way around it anymore, Nastya knows. She has to tell them.

"Jonny. Jonny is..." Nastya's hands curl into trembling fists. "Jonny is dead."

"Oh," Raphaella says, oblivious. "He hasn't rehealed yet?"

Nastya shakes her head. "You misunderstand. Jonny is... I..." Nastya can hardly summon the words to describe it. Her chest quaking from witheld sobs, she collapses into herself, arms wrapping weakly around her body as her head falls to rest on her knees.

She hears the offended hissing of displaced Octokittens, then three different sets of footsteps begin to approach her, so she holds out a flat hand, signaling them to stop.

"He... I took the files, Raphaella, because Jonny's mechanism was malfunctioning. He didn't want Marius operating in him, out of mistrust for anyone except me, so I- I figured that I knew enough about Jonny's mechanism to repair it on my own. I took the files to be sure that I wasn't missing anything, but..."

"It didn't matter. He's dead. He died, and he died in my arms. He bled out in the med-bay, and I had to clean up his blood from the floor afterwards."

"What- what do you mean, he's- no," Tim says, sounding near panicked, "No, Jonny doesn't- we're immortal, Nastya! How could he have died?"

A doubtful "Are you sure he's gone?" from Raphaella.

A hesitant "Where is his body?" from Ivy.

"Aurora?" Nastya says, "Could you show them?"

The TV in the Common turns itself on, and on the screen appears a grainy recording from one of Aurora's outer Observational Cameras.

A body is shoved out of an airlock. It steadily drifts out of view of the camera, clearly aiming for a bright blue star in the distance. A timestamp is shown at the bottom corner of the screen, marking the event at 18 days ago. The footage cuts out.

***

Nastya wholly expected them to be angry at her- expected for her reasoning to be ignored and mocked, expected to be left alone in the midst of this. But, to her surprise, not a shred of anger is cast her way. In it's stead are simply confusion, sadness, and disappointment.

"How? When? Where? Why?" They ask. "Why? Why? Why?"

"I wish I could've, I probably should've, I wanted to," They regret.

"Are you? Did you? Did he? Was he?" They wonder.

They are probably mad at her on the inside, Nastya reasons, but she is grateful that they have not shown it to her, even if they are. Even if they want to.

Jonny's body is not entirely gone, though. Nastya still has the panel from his chest, recovered from the med-bay when she returned to clean it. She doesn't tell the others about this, either, as she plans to keep it with her. It stays hidden in a small black case in her closet, wrapped in the most expensive fabric that she could steal from their next planet-side visit.

Maybe it's a strange thing to keep. Maybe it's wrong to hide this last piece of him from them, as well. But, yet again, Nastya finds that she cannot care.

They hold a "memorial" for him on that visit, too, which simply meant gathering everyone (even the Toy Soldier) in a bar, and getting as drunk as they could get without dying of alcohol poisoning, all while sharing their worst and favourite stories about Jonny.

Nastya doesn't get drunk, though. She needs as much control over her mental faculties as she can achieve. She needs to make sure she doesn't cry.

Because she hasn't cried, not once in the five months since she sent off Jonny's body.

She'll never stop crying, if she starts. She'll never stop.

They all try their best to comfort each other, to comfort her. Nastya thinks of it as futile. How can there be comfort in the world, after this?

"Nastya?" The Aurora says. "Please get up. You've been laying on structural girder 11920 for over two days, now."

"Jonny's gone."

"I know, Nastya. Please get up. You need to move."

"Jonny's gone."

"I know, Nastya. Please get up. You should talk to the other crew."

"Jonny's gone."

"I know, Nastya. I love you. Please get up."

"...I love you, too," Nastya says, making no moves to get up.

***

"It wasn't your fault," Markus tries to assure her, carefully reviewing the files on Jonny's mechanism both in paper and on computer. "The Doc's design here is seriously flawed. She put in that deactivation for his heart's self-regulation to allow her to work on it without her changes being overridden."

"But I couldn't repair the damage manually, either."

"That's another flaw," Marius points to one of the papers, "See that metal she used? It's not durable long term. In the beginning, maybe, but not after so long. Not after so much damage. I suppose she realized that, since none mechanisms made afterwards have that same metal."

("I was one of her earlier experiments," Jonny had said to her, "It makes sense that her work wouldn't be as... refined.")

Nastya lets out a dull "Hm".

"You haven't been blaming yourself too harshly, I hope?" Marius says, concerned.

"Blame doesn't serve anyone, in this case. Blame wouldn't bring him back."

"...Is that a 'no, you haven't been'?"

"That is indeed a 'no'."

"Ah! Good."

It's not a complete lie. In some ways, she doesn't blame herself- for the faulty self regulation system, and the time bomb nature of the metal used in his heart. In other ways, she does blame herself- for making it such a horrid and slow death for Jonny, by thinking that she could repair it in the first place.

***

Ashes hands Nastya a lit match after lighting their own cigarette with it, and nods to the pile of clothes in front of them.

"Come on. It'll be cathartic for both of us."

"But they're Jonny's clothes. And we're burning them."

"None of us really ever saw him never wear these, though. That's why I chose them. I wouldn't burn his iconic outfit- you know, with the 5 belts, brown vest, and white dress shirt. These are his clothes too, but with less sentimentality. Better toss the match before it burns out."

Nastya throws the match onto the pile of clothes, which is quickly joined by a second match from Ashes. The fire takes its time with enveloping the clothes, starting as a small patch and gradually encroaching upon the unburnt areas, until the pile is a charred and dark mound consumed by bright orange flames that dance and flicker almost joyously.

Nastya doubts that she could ever find the exact kind of happiness in burning things that Ashes does, but watching the flames as they take away Jonny's items does provide Nastya with a mild sensation of a relief- now there's less of Jonny's belongings for her to be pained by. Ashes seems to be enjoying it, too, as a relaxed smile graces their lips.

"Ashes?" Nastya speaks up when the flames have noticably started dying down, "I... haven't been talking with the others much, lately. Would you happen to know how they're handling Jonny being...?"

"Hard. They've taken it hard. Most of them don't show it openly, but I hear their shouting, and crying, and gunfire. Tim and I have kind of co-adopted command. Not that Jonny was really in command, anyway, but... yeah."

"And how have you taken it?"

Ashes goes silent for a moment, thinking. "I don't like how sudden it was. That's what gets me the most about this. There was no warning, no preparartion. Nothing. Just... he was there, and then the next day... he's gone."

Nastya bows her head. "I'm sorry. I-" She stops herself from setting into a self-blaming apology, and instead asks "What was the last thing you ever said to him?"

"It wasn't anything remarkable. We were just talking about the Octokittens. He was complaining about them being in his way again, and I told him that if he gave them some attention, maybe they'd leave him alone." Ashes chuckles lightly. "I've never seen someone so unhappily coo at a cat."

"You mean an Octokitten."

"Yeah, right. I keep forgetting you don't know what regular... nevermind."

The fire eventually sputters out, leaving behind nothing but ash and small burnt sections of fabric.

***

Nastya sits unmoving with her back against Jonny's closed door, curled miserably into herself with her knees to her chest, and her arms encirling her legs.

The Toy Solider happens to walk by, and spots Nastya, stopping in it's tracks to stare at her with a pleasent smile on it's face.

"Hello, Nastya!" It says cheerily. Nastya doesn't respond.

"Would You Like A Cup Of Tea?"

Nastya spares the Toy Solider a weary glance, then looks away again.

"You Seem Unhappy! Would You Like Me To Fetch Someone For You?"

Nastya considers it for a long moment, then nods. She needs more incentive to keep herself from crying, and what's a better incentive than not becoming a blubbering mess in front of one of the crew members?

The Toy Solider marches off, leaving Nastya alone again, but it's not long before it returns with Brian in tow.

"I Have Returned With The Drumbot!" It announces happily. "He Said That He Would Be Oh So Glad To Help You!"

Nastya thinks that she would very much like to thank the Toy Solider, but she does not trust herself to open her mouth without letting a sob escape. So, she says nothing. She does nothing.

Brian dismisses the Toy Solider with an amiable wave, and lowers himself to the ground beside Nastya.

"Nastya?" He says lightly, carefully. "What's wrong?"

No response.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

No response.

"When was the last time you slept?"

No response. She doesn't know if she can respond, at this point.

"...Would you like a hug?"

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her chest, Nastya realizes that the last person she had held- the last person she'd let herself be held by- was Jonny. The tears threaten her then with more viability than they have in several weeks, and her entire body is wracked with heavy shaking from the force of restraining them.

"You can cry, you know. I won't judge you for it. We've all done it at least once, since Jonny... well, maybe expect for the Toy Solider. I don't know if it can even physically cry."

"I can't," Nastya mumbles weakly. "Can't let myself."

"Why not?"

"I- I don't know if I'll ever stop, if I start. I feel like I'll just keep crying forever."

There's a pause, then, "Who said you had to stop?"

"W-what?"

"Sometimes grief never goes away. If you need to cry forever to match it, then who's telling you that you can't?"

At that, Nastya finally breaks, and she lets herself devolve into the largest bout of tears she's ever had. She screams with as much power as she can muster, though it's muffled into her coat to spare Brian from the brunt of it, who currently holds her. She shouts and she babbles and the tears that fall catch on Brian's hands, dampening her hair as he genlty runs his fingers through it.

She never stops crying, after that (because, miraculously, there is still an After. Even if she didn't think there would. Even if she never wanted there to be.). It's not a constant ordeal- there are weeks and years where she will not do it at all, and there are times where it is all she can do. But she never truly stops.

And so, as the last burst of heat would leave the universe, it's energy would have been spent drying Nastya's tears.

Because Jonny is dead, and Nastya will miss him every day until she joins him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i never write rough drafts of my fics. i just rattle some scenes around in my head for a day or two until they Feel Good, and then i write them down as if they're the final product from the get-go. things change as i re-read and proof read, of course, but rough drafts? never heard of 'em.
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed this and i would very much like to hear if you did!


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